


The Great Game

by simplyspn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt!Cas, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:59:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9801704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyspn/pseuds/simplyspn
Summary: Castiel gets kidnapped and Dean and Sam have twelve hours to find him, following clues left behind by his kidnapper. If they don't make the deadline, Castiel gets killed, and Dean doesn't get to tell him how he feels about him.





	

**_12 hours, 00 minutes_ **

 

Dean was pacing back and forth in the bunker. He had been for hours, his phone gripped tightly to his chest. Sam glanced at his brother again, then back down at the book in front of him. He’d read this paragraph twenty times and still had no idea what it said. There were much more pressing matters at hand than the lore behind a Rakshasa that may or may not be pillaging the state of Wyoming.

 

_Where was Cas?_

 

Dean’s feet scuffed the floor beneath him, the soles of his boots barely lifting off the floor. “He said he’d be back in two hours Sam. It’s been a _day._ Even for Cas, that’s ridiculous!” Dean’s voice was tinted with worry. Sam flipped shut the book and pushed it aside.

 

“I’m sure he just got tied up with some angel stuff, Dean. You know he is still trying to make amends with them for The Fall.” Sam’s voice trailed off when green eyes penetrated his own with a scolding glance. Even Sam knew that was a shot in the dark. Sam threw up his hands in surrender just as Dean’s phone rang.

 

Unknown Number.

 

“Cas?” Dean refused to let himself sound hopeful, just in case it wasn’t his best friend calling.

 

“Not quite.” The voice on the other end of the line was gruff. It belonged to an older male, clearly one that had decades of heavy smoking under his belt. “If you want to see your angel again, you have to play a little game.”

 

Dean’s heart sank, and his stomach fell with it. The color drained from his face. The very un-Dean-like gesture had Sam rising to his feet, trying to figure out what was going on.

 

“Who is this?” Dean’s voice was cold. Hard. Demanding. Everything that reflected the angry hunter in him. “Where is Cas?”

 

Sam started piecing things together now, and leapt toward his computer. All those years of hacking police databases had at least taught him how to trace a call. But this caller, unfortunately, knew exactly who he was dealing with and was using a burner phone.

 

“Who I am is of no importance. All that matters, is that you play my game…” A laugh that made Dean cringe echoed through the phone. His hands were clenching into fists at his sides. This man was playing a very dangerous game already by messing with Cas. Did he not know what Dean would do to him? Or did he simply think that Dean wouldn’t find a way to end him?

 

“Give. Me. The. Angel.” Dean’s words were growls of demand, his jaw clenched just as tightly as his fist. A loud, pained, familiar cry filled the hunter’s ear. “Cas? CAS!” Sam lifted his head in horror at his older brother’s reaction. He had no idea what was being said on the other side of the phone, but he could read Dean’s face like a book. “If you touch him, I swear to God I will end you. But not before I make you beg for death.” He hissed.

 

Again, the old man laughed. “I’d like to see you try, boy. Now, are you ready to follow directions? You’re going to be going on a little…scavenger hunt, of sorts. Gathering things that I just couldn’t quite bribe people to give to me. You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t…since somehow everything always seems to work out in your favor. I left clues behind at each location to take you to your next. Let’s see if that gargantuan brother of yours still has that Stanford brain, shall we?” Dean’s blood was boiling, his breaths coming quickly. It was taking everything he had to bite his tongue so Cas wouldn’t get hurt again. “Your first job is this: I need the fourth rib of a Saint. One that was born on the second full moon of the year. You have twelve hours to solve the puzzle, or the angel dies.”

 

The line went dead.

 

* * *

 

**_24 hours earlier_ **

 

“I’ll be two hours at most, Dean. I’m going to help Afriel. He’s my brother, and he’s not that far away. I’ll call if I need you.” He waved his cell phone, proving that he did actually have it this time. As opposed to last time, when he told Dean he’d call and left it on the table by mistake. His best friend worried a lot about him. It wasn’t unwarranted, especially since he really _was_ pretty human without his wings. Sure, he still had all his powers, but he never realized how much he used to just _angel out_ of uncomfortable situations until he couldn’t anymore.

 

Cas didn’t even make it to Afriel’s.

 

He was driving down an empty highway when someone stepped into the road. The vessel wasn’t familiar, but the face in the vessel was. Micah. Another fallen angel.

 

The trench coated angel didn’t have time to react. The elderly angel lifted a hand, and flung the car to the side of the road, flipping it, as if it were nothing more than a toy. Cas fought for consciousness, but ultimately lost. The last thing he saw was a gritty smiling face crouched down next to him.

 

When he woke, he was in a basement of some sort. Holy fire ensured he wasn’t escaping the chair he was tied to, just in case the rope soaked in holy oil and the Enochian handcuffs weren’t enough. Cas was defenseless. Powerless. And his only hope for survival had no idea where he was.

 

* * *

 

“How the hell am I supposed to find the fourth rib bone of a Saint born on the second full moon of the year?!” Dean shouted, and his voice echoed in the bunker. Sam was equally frustrated as he combed through records, but he knew this was different for Dean. While Cas was Sam’s best friend, Dean was undoubtedly and completely in love with the angel. Even if they hadn’t told each other yet.

 

Sam wasn’t stupid. And he _did,_ in fact, have eyeballs.

 

“Dean. Yelling the same question at me over and over again isn’t going to give you an answer any sooner!” Sam grumbled, tapping at the keyboard of his laptop again to change the search parameters. This would have been easier if they have been told _what year_ they needed to be looking at. But no. That would have been far too easy. And why should anything in the Winchesters’ lives be easy?

 

Dean was trying desperately to stay focused. He was pawing at his laptop, searching every variation of ‘Saint’ ‘Dead’ and ‘Full Moon’ that he could think of. But his eyes kept falling to the clock. He had already synced his phone to a countdown timer. Right now, they had eleven hours and seventeen minutes left. Dean had eleven hours to save Cas’s life, or that was another death on his hands. And that was one death he would never be able to get over.

 

“Hey. Hey!” Sam’s eyebrows raised like they always did when he got something, causing his forehead to crinkle. Dean was grabbing his computer and reading while Sam spoke. “February 9th, 1876 a Saint named Caprice Custead died from what at the time was believed to be smoke inhalation from a fire but was later determined to be mercury poisoning. February ninth was the second full moon of that year. And, get this. She was born on March 22nd, 1818. Also, a full moon.”

 

Dean looked up at Sam for a minute. This had to be it. There were too many little details for this _not_ to be what they were looking for. “So, where’s she buried?” He asked almost hesitantly. Was there some sort of catch? There had to be some sort of catch.

 

Sam cleared his throat. “Well. She’s not buried. She’s in a mausoleum just a few minutes from here…” Dean waited. The tone in his brother’s voice suggested there was more to it. “She was put in the mausoleum with the others who died in the fire that night. She had already been dead, and the fire had been set to cover it apparently, but the church had nuns in it.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and shut the computer. He was already standing and putting on his jacket. He picked up his phone, still taunting him by counting down how much time he had left, and shoved it in his pocket. “Let me guess. It’s another one of those ‘mass grave’ type things.” Sam nodded. “No labels?” Again, Sam nodded. Dean clenched his jaw. The younger Winchester was surprised he hadn’t broken a tooth yet. “But, Caprice had broken her femur as a teen. That should be a pretty easy way to separate her from the others.”

 

“Oh, yes. Finding a little, tiny healed fracture in charred, two century year old bone in the dead of night sounds easy as pie.” The sarcasm dripped from his voice like venom. Sam cautiously picked up the keys to Baby, and headed out the door.

 

* * *

 

**_10 hours, 54 minutes_ **

 

Dean carried the army green duffel bag on his shoulders and treaded toward the only three mausoleums in the cemetery. He was practically running, making Sam hustle to keep up. Sam didn’t complain. This was important. This was _Cas._

 

Two of the mausoleums were marked with family names. One was only marked with artistry, cherubs with horns. And warding. “Is that…?” Sam started to ask, but before he could answer, Dean nodded. “Angel and demon warding. So, we know it’s either an angel or a demon that has Cas. And we know why he couldn’t get the damn bone himself.”

 

Dean traded his lock picking kit for bolt cutters to save time, and made quick work of the door. The dust that greeted the brothers was thick, sending them both into a coughing fit. They tried to silence themselves with their sleeves, and after the dust settled Sam pulled the door shut behind him. They each fished their flashlights from the duffel, along with crowbars, and got to work.

 

Dean felt like this was taking hours. It was taking much too long, one way or another. All he could think about was Cas and was happening to him. He knew from the beginning it was an angel or a demon that had him, but the confirmation of it made him feel sick. What were they doing to him? The scream he heard on the phone echoed in his mind. It was going to fuel his nightmares for years.

 

“Found her.” Sam whispered loudly, which left Dean wondering why he even whispered at all. Either way, Dean shoved the body he was searching back into its place and ran over to Sam. “Sorry about this. Thanks for your services.” The crack of dry bone snapping was almost deafening, especially when it vibrated off the concrete walls of the crypt. “Let’s get out of here.” Sam said, almost disgusted by what he was holding in his hand.

 

“Wait.” Dean interjected. “He said there’d be another clue here…” Sam paused where he was, both of their eyes scanning the area for whatever their clue could be. Dean was getting frustrated as he scoured the ground on his hands and knees. They were wasting precious time. Time they didn’t have to waste!

 

“Wait!” Sam shout-whispered again. They were in a cemetery at two in the morning. It was very unlikely anyone else was going to find them. But Sam liked to be safe. “The warding, remember? He couldn’t _get_ in here. So, he couldn’t leave a clue in here. The clue would have to be outside.”

 

Dean got to his feet and wiped his hands on his jeans. He lifted the duffle bag and Sam shoved the rib bone inside. “Awesome. Because this wasn’t fun enough to search, now we have a whole _cemetery.”_ Sam didn’t feed into Dean’s frustrations. He knew by now it was sometimes best to just let Dean be angry and hate the world, because sometimes, the world deserved to be hated. Especially when it took away one of the only good things Dean had in his life.

 

Dean was circling nearby graves, searching for anything off. Sam focused on the outside of the mausoleum itself. His fingers ran across the cold exterior, over the detailed cherubs. When he got to the back, he froze. “Well…that’s not obvious.” He said to himself, then pointed his flashlight over at his brother. “Dean. Dean, come here.”

 

_Your next clue is right at home_

_I need a Winchester, blood and bone._

 

The words were carved into the crypt in slanted scrawl. Dean stood beside his younger brother and stared at it for a few seconds. “That’s fifty shades of creepy.” He said pointedly, reaching for his knife. “Right. Alright. Cut it off.” He handed the knife over to Sam and pressed his hand to the hard surface of the wall. Sam looked at his brother, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

 

“It’s kind of obvious what he wants, Sam. Blood and bone of a Winchester, and you sure as hell aren’t sacrificing. We aren’t in the position to compromise, either. He has CAS! I’m not letting him get hurt because of my attachment to my god damned fingers, SO CUT IT OFF!” Red was snaking up his neck and cheeks with his anger.

 

Sam stepped back and looked at the words again. “It doesn’t say that the blood and bone need to come from the same Winchester.” If they could win Cas back on a technicality and Dean could stay whole, that was still a win in Sam’s book. “You know…even with a hunter’s funeral…bones don’t turn to ash…”

 

Dean was staring at his brother in confusion, but it finally sunk in. “Dad?” He asked, wondering if it really could be that simple. No research. No fighting. Just driving to Lawrence where they officially laid their father to rest and digging up a grave. Just like any other day on the job. Sam nodded, and for the first time since Cas went missing, both of their lips could twitch into a smile at this small success. This little ability to outwit the man that had sent them on this run and taken so much from them. With the rib bone safely packed away, they headed back to Baby.

* * *

  

**_8 hours, 59 minutes_ **

 

Usually, being in Lawrence filled Dean with a sense of grief. Everything that had happened here was just too much for him to handle. It was a weight, crushing down on him. But tonight was different. Tonight, the only thing on Dean’s mind wasn’t carrying his infant brother while his house and his mother went up in flames. It was his angel, trapped at the hands of a monster, being tortured. And his life depended on every move Dean made.

 

Sam was flinging the door open before the car even came to a stop. He’d already gotten the shovels from the trunk as Dean shut off the car. They headed to the grave, and didn’t even hesitate to rip it apart.

 

Grave digging was tedious work. Both of them were sweating and grunting by the time shovels hit casket. It was a simple pine box, so it was easier to lift than others they’d been faced with. “Sorry, dad. But I’m not losing Cas.” Dean muttered to the remains of their father before cutting off a finger. Sam could hear the feeling in his voice. _I’m not losing Cas._ It was obvious that he was going to do whatever it took to get the angel back. He had been willing to sacrifice himself, no questions ask. He didn’t hesitate to hand Sam that knife to cut off his finger. If this wasn’t love, then Sam really didn’t know what was. And if they ever made it to the end of this puzzle and got Cas back, he would make damn sure Dean told him about it. With their line of work, there was never a guaranteed tomorrow.

 

“Wait, he didn’t know we were going to do this! Where’s the next clue?!” Dean was starting to panic, forcing Sam to grip his shoulders and shake some sense into him. They needed to think.

 

“The riddle said the next clue was right at home. Home. The bunker. Maybe he was being painstakingly obvious.” Sam said, eyebrows knitted together. He didn’t know whether this man was insane or a genius. One way or the other, he hated him.

 

The reburied their father and headed back to the car. In the trunk, there was a small jar. Dean picked it up and cut open his hand, bleeding freely into it. Blood and bone of Winchester – two different Winchesters, but Winchesters all the same. After wrapping his hand with a less-than-sanitary handkerchief, he climbed back into the front seat silently. As time ticked on, Dean was beginning to lose faith in them. Twelve hours wasn’t much time to begin with, and neither of them were good at riddles. Were they doomed from the start?

 

* * *

 

 

**_6 hours, 48 minutes_ **

The bunker was huge. At least, when it came to something such as looking for a clue. Especially when they had absolutely no idea what they were looking for. How does one get inside the head of an insane angel or demon?

 

The elder hunter had ripped every book off the shelf and turned every table upside down. He wasn’t being quiet about it. He sounded like a rabid animal, while Sam searched quietly. Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he tried to clear the fog that had settled over his brain. Whoever was doing this, knew that Cas meant the world to Dean. He knew that, by taking Cas, he was making this personal. And this man seemed to get off on making it personal.

 

Working on a hunch, Dean made his way to his bedroom. He didn’t know where to start, so he started at his desk. He was a man for pictures. He had pictures of him and his mother from when he was young, and tons of pictures of him and Sam. And a photo of him and Cas. The desk lamp illuminated the back of the photo, revealing writing. Writing that Dean hadn’t put there.

 

Writing that matched the slanted scrawl on the mausoleum.

 

_Hated by heaven, hated by hell_

_You need the blood, of an angel that fell._

Dean stood up so quickly that his desk chair toppled over. He didn’t even pause to pick it up. “SAM!” He shouted through the bunker, racing out to the library. Sam was barely getting to his feet when Dean gave him the picture. Sam’s first reaction was to look at the picture himself and raise an eyebrow. Dean had a picture of himself and Cas? Not just on his phone, but a _printed_ photograph?

 

This damn boy was in love.

 

Sam flipped it over and read the riddle twice before shaking his head and pushing his hair from his face. “This doesn’t make sense. All the angels fell!” Dean was nodding in agreement. He didn’t understand either.

 

“But, what if it means he needs the blood of an _actual_ Fallen angel…” Dean hoped his was wrong, more than anything. Going back to Lucifer and asking for a favor was like covering himself in blood and asking a starving shark not to eat him.

 

“Isn’t Cas a fallen angel?” Sam asked. Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Wait. All these ingredients…that’s a spell. I remember coming across it when we were trying to cage Lucifer. It didn’t mention us by name, of course. But it needed a hero’s bone and blood. The spell…it raised the Guardians of Hell.”

 

“Yes. He’s a Seraph. That’s why he was able to Fall and still keep his powers. Seraphs are the only ones that can do that… but he’s definitely fallen…and we aren’t going to let that happen.” he was just about to ask what they were supposed to do, because they didn’t exactly know where Cas was, when his phone rang again.

 

Unknown Number.

 

“Listen here, Dick.” Dean didn’t even give the man a chance to speak. “You already have one of your ingredients with you. So just tell us where you are so we can give you the other two and I can get my angel back.”

 

The line was silent for a minute.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean’s heart fell. His voice was broken and husky, but that was definitely Cas. “Cas? Cas where are you? How did you…” Cas cut him off. He was good at that.

 

“I’m in some…some warehouse. He wanted me to tell you that since you’ve been so smart, he’s taking time away. You…you have two hours, Dean. I’m in a warehouse, and it’s snowing” Dean could barely hear the last word, because the man was pulling the phone away from him.

 

Again, the line went dead.

 

Dean tossed his phone across with room with a growl that would put a lion to shame. He looked over at Sam desperately. “That _douche_ took time away! We only have two hours to figure out where Cas is! TWO HOURS. All Cas was able to say is that he’s in a warehouse and it’s snowing…” Dean swept his arms across one of the very few tables that were still standing after his mad search for the clue, clearing it of everything in his rage.

 

“Okay, that shouldn’t be hard to find.” Sam was trying to be optimistic as he opened his computer and typed in the parameters. Thankfully, for once, things were actually working in their favor.

 

There was only one warehouse in the area that was abandoned and was currently experiencing snowfall.

 

“Fuck…” Sam whispered under his breath, causing Dean’s almost hopeful expression to fall. “It’s…it’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive, Dean…”

 

Dean refused to accept that. They didn’t come this close to finding Cas just to lose him because of the distance of a drive. He refused. “The hell it is. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_00 hours, 00 minutes, 29 seconds_ **

Sam’s knuckles were white from clutching so desperately to the car handle. Dean had driven quickly before, but this was an entirely new level of _fast._ But he didn’t have time to tell his heart to stay in his chest, because right now they had less than a minute to find Cas, and Dean was reminding him every step of the way.

 

Guns in hand, with angel blades melted down into bullets, they stormed into the warehouse. Dean didn’t know what to expect. They could be walking in to an ambush; they had no plan, and no confirmation that this douche was acting alone. They could also be too late. Who’s to say this man was a man of his word?

 

But, he pushed the negative thoughts away and trudged on, just like the soldier he was always trained to be. Only this time, the mission mattered.

 

The brothers came to a split in the warehouse, and with no time to figure out which way to go, Sam tipped his head at his brother. Dean nodded his understanding and went left, while Sam went right.

 

The hallway led him into an almost empty room. In the middle of the room was a basic card table, filled with items that Dean wouldn’t allow himself to think about – they were things this monster was using to _hurt Cas._ That was all he needed to know. Cas was toward the back of the room. He was chained to a chair, his arms stretched high above him and cuffed to a low-hanging pipe.

 

But that wasn’t what worried Dean.

 

Cas’s head was hanging forward, unresponsive. His white shirt was ripped and stained red with blood. Even from this distance, Dean could see that the angel’s skin was damp with sweat. “…Cas?....” Dean’s voice was broken. Had they been too late? Had all this running around, this desperation, been for nothing?

 

Sorrow and heartbreak gave way to unbridled rage.

 

“Don’t worry, Feathers is still alive.” The old man was far worse looking that Dean had imagined. He was partially hunched over, with eyes that sunk so far into his head Dean couldn’t tell if they were gray or blue, and teeth yellowed from years of smoking. He hadn’t seen him lurking in the shadows; all his attention had been on Cas. But now, he lifted his gun and took aim straight at the man’s head.

 

“I finished the game. I won. Give me my angel.” His voice was clipped, his jaw set once again. Dean was itching to take his shot, to blow this thing’s head off, but he was standing too close to Cas. He couldn’t risk taking a shot now; the bullets were made of _angel blades._ If he hit Cas, it would kill him. Dean had no choice but to wait it out.

 

“Aren’t you even just a teensy bit curious as to what I needed all these things for?” The man’s voice sounded even worse in this empty room than it had over the static of the phone. Dean simply shook his head, his eyes bouncing from the man to Cas constantly.

 

“Quite honestly, every last one of you are the same.” Dean saw movement from the corner of his eyes, but recognized the large creature as his brother and didn’t look directly at him. No need to give him away. “Angels. Demons. You’re all the same. Self-centered pricks. You couldn’t care less about anyone besides yourselves. The only exception to that is sitting in that chair.” He nodded toward Cas. And in all his years dealing with angels and demons, Cas had been the only one to selflessly do whatever it took to save others, even if it meant risking himself.

 

He was God’s special angel. God made him differently, and in Dean’s opinion, God made him _right._

 

The old man looked genuinely hurt by Dean’s accusation, and the hunter was filled with a sense of triumph. That quickly faded when the man began walking over to the table. “My name is Micah, and you should learn some respect.”

 

Dean scoffed. “I’ve been told that a time or two, but you know what? I only respect those who earn it. Think I’ll pass.” The hunter recognized the name. An angel, then. He’d heard Cas talk about him in the past. Micah was the angel of Revelation. The angel of the Divine Plan. He had been especially angry when the three of them had stopped Armageddon so many years ago, because it had made a mockery of God’s plan.

 

Micah looked over his shoulder, chapped lips spreading in a grim smile that exposed yellow teeth. Dean had to fight not to cringe. He still couldn’t take a shot. It was still too risky. What the hell was Sam waiting for? Why wasn’t he doing anything?

 

“But you see, you’re not in the position to be disrespectful here. I have the upper hand.” The rogue angel was pouring something from a pitcher into a glass. Dean couldn’t quite tell what it was. “And you – you have a dying angel you’re attempting to rescue. And now I’m forced to remind you that you are, in fact, not superior here, Mr. Winchester. I know that must come as a shock, since you’re so used to always being the one in charge.”

 

Dean’s heart had picked up speed for the hundredth time that night. He thought it was going to beat right out of his chest. Even the angel’s words were terrifying. “If you touch him one more time…”

 

“What? You’ll kill me? Not before I kill him.”

 

Dean just stared at him. Micah laughed maniacally. He walked toward Cas and grabbed the battered angel by a fistful of hair. He tilted his head back, shoved the rim of the glass between his lips, and poured its contents down his throat.

 

The blood curdling scream was unlike anything Dean had heard before. It pierced his heart. It pierced his _soul._ It brought tears to his eyes. The hunter had never felt so helpless and so out of control. He couldn’t get a shot in, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get him away from Cas.

 

As Dean was tucking his gun into his waistband, he saw Sammy. He was vigorously shaking his head no; he already knew what Dean was planning to do. But Dean wasn’t going to just stand there when neither of them could get a shot in. Dean lunged forward, using the entire force of his body weight to bring the unsuspecting angel to the ground, as far away from _his_ angel as he could.

 

* * *

 

**_-7 minutes, 28 seconds_ **

 

Sam had gotten himself into every position possible trying to get a clear shot. It seemed that whoever they were dealing with was familiar with protecting himself from danger. But he’d never encountered the Winchesters before, and he’d certainly never encountered Dean Winchester when Castiel had been taken from him and tortured.

 

If this idiot wouldn’t have hurt his best friend, he would have almost felt sorry for him. The wrath of Dean was nothing anyone wanted to encounter, celestial being or not.

 

Again, Sam tried to reposition himself. The only place he could get a clear shot without risking Cas was through Micah’s leg. That wouldn’t kill him, just piss him off. Unless…

 

They’d carved devil’s traps in bullets before to keep Abaddon and Crowley from using their powers. And they knew from experience that Enochian symbols on handcuffs worked on angels. Sam unloaded the angel blade bullets from his gun and got to work, tediously carving Enochian symbols into bullets with his pocketknife.

 

He’d been reloading the gun with the carved bullets when an ear-splitting scream echoed through the warehouse and vibrated through Sam’s very core. The younger Winchester looked up, only to see his brother putting his gun away. He knew what was coming next; Dean was going to tackle Micah to keep him from hurting Cas, but that would make it even _more_ impossible to get a shot in. When he caught his brother’s eye, he shook his head no.

 

But, _shocker,_ Dean didn’t listen.

 

The hunter looked at their friend. His lips and chin and neck were red and blistered from whatever had just been poured down his throat. Sam didn’t know there was anything that existed that could do that to an angel. Cas’s eyes were open, but just barely. His head was resting on his arm as if holding it up would be the most exhausting thing he’d ever done.

 

He suddenly wasn’t so frustrated with Dean anymore. He would have been just as angry and just as reckless if it would have been Gabriel sitting in that chair. He was even more determined to get Cas to safety now; if Cas died without Dean getting the chance to tell him how he felt – well, Sam didn’t want his brother to feel the same regret he did when Gabriel died.

 

While Sam was lost in his thoughts, he was missing the fight between Dean and Micah. What brought him back to reality was another scream, this time from his brother, followed by Cas’s weak, deep voice.

 

“DEAN!”

 

* * *

  

**_-15 minutes, 29 seconds_ **

 

Dean momentarily had forgotten that all angels carry angel blades. But he was so angry and so desperate to get Cas home that a good portion of his common sense had flown right out the window. He hadn’t been looking for an angel blade when one appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, in Micah’s hand. Again, the rogue angel grinned. Then he lifted his arm.

 

The skilled hunter rolled at the last second. Surprisingly, this wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation. Unfortunately for him, though, he moved a little too late. The blade sliced the side of his neck. The pain was white hot, and for a moment it stole Dean’s vision. His hand flew to the wound, and in seconds, blood was pumping through his fingers. He thought he heard Cas call his name, but it sounded so far away he couldn’t be sure.

 

A gunshot rang out. It was deafeningly loud off the concrete walls of the empty building. Dean wasn’t sure where it came from. All he knew was that staying vertical was too exhausting at the moment. Dean collapsed onto the concrete floor, and the world faded to from white, to gray, to black.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam had no choice. He _had_ to take a shot now. He found the best position he could and pulled the trigger twice, rapidly. To the hunter’s amazement, the bullets made contact with Micah and nothing else. One in the calf, one in the thigh. He was going to be in severe pain, but not dead. Which is exactly how Sam needed him right now.

 

He walked into the room, no longer needing to hide himself from view. He ran to his brother, adding pressure to the wound. His pulse was dwindling rapidly, and Dean was lying in a pool of his own blood. “Cas? Cas! What do I do? He’s dying! Dean! DEAN!” There were two angels in this room, and neither of them could help.

 

It was a known fact that the Winchesters did stupid things in times of desperation, especially when it came to saving each other. He may have told Dean he wouldn’t do the same thing for him, but he would. Sam’s eyes were cold and hard as they settled on the angel, whining and writhing on the ground in pain. “If you heal Castiel and let him go, I get those bullets out of your leg and you walk out of here alive. One time offer, take it or leave it.”

 

Micah squeaked out something that sounded like a yes. “If you try to leave without healing him, or you do anything else I don’t like, I’ve still got another round of those angel bullets.” Sam shoved a pair of pliers at him so he could fish out the bullets; he was too preoccupied with trying to keep his brother alive. His pulse was getting weaker and weaker, less blood was pumping through Sam’s fingers with each of Dean’s fading heartbeats.

 

Sam didn’t even realize Micah had gotten the bullets removed until he saw motion from his side view. He turned to watch the angel’s movements. He kept his gun near just in case he tried to escape, but to Sam’s surprise he healed Cas, then freed him.

 

Cas didn’t need to be instructed on what to do next.

 

Pale fingers cupped Dean’s bloodstained cheek. It didn’t get past Sam that when it came to healing Dean, he always touched him as much as he could; when it came to healing anyone else, two fingers on the forehead was enough. Sam’s hand was still pressed against his brother’s neck, but he could feel the skin knitting back together beneath his touch and his brother’s heartbeat gaining strength and speed.

 

Sam’s eyes met Cas’s, and Cas nodded. The hunter grabbed his gun and turned, aiming it directly at Micah. Micah’s eyes widened. “I thought we had a deal?”

 

Sam’s gaze was steely and unreadable. “Yeah. I lied. I’m not in the habit of letting those who try to kill my friends walk away. Have fun in hell. Enjoy your stay.” Sam pulled the trigger, and Micah’s body dropped to the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean’s eyes opened slowly. At first, the world was a mess of blurred lines and colors. When he was finally able to blink everything into focus, he was greeted with bright blue hues. Cas’s eyes. Cas’s eyes that Dean had seen so many times, at such a proximity, that he knew there were in fact seven different shades of blue in his eyes.

 

It took Dean another thirty seconds to remember what had happened. When he did remember though, he shot up, nearly knocking Cas over in the process. “Cas! Are you okay? What did he do to you?” Cas had tilted his head like a confused puppy, just like he always did. Dean was waiting for an answer until he heard a clanging from the other side of the room.

 

Sam was at the table that Micah had kept all his torture devices on, though none of them looked especially _torturous._ “Hey, Cas? Can Holy Oil…burn angels? Like Holy Water does to demons?” He was dipping his finger into the pitcher that contained the liquid Micah had poured down Cas’s throat.

 

Cas looked at Dean, as if he needed to make sure he was alright one more time before delving into an explanation. Cas was crouched next to Dean, and Dean was sitting so close to Cas he could feel his warmth. Sam was half tempted to go push Cas over so he would fall into Dean, put he refrained.

 

“On its own, no. Holy oil can only fuel the holy fire that entraps us.” He looked at the pitcher in disdain. “However, just like you must bless water to make it toxic to demons, you must curse oil to make it toxic to angels. He cursed holy oil, that is why it burned me.”

 

Dean had never thought of that. It was simple, but in a way, it did make sense. But seeing it for the first time tested on _his_ angel was not how he wanted to see it. He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans and took a deep breath. Dean was tired, and hungry, and needed to have a talk with Cas. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_At the Bunker_ **

 

Sam leaned against the doorway, chewing on a stick of jerky. He was watching Dean, thrumming his fingers on the top of the tables that Sam made him fix after his little rampage while looking for the last clue. The younger brother knew Dean was trying to figure out a way to tell Cas what he’d been feeling. It was funny how near death experiences forced people to say how they felt – one would think with the amount of times they’d died, they would have learned to stop holding back.

 

Dean had convinced Cas that, while he was an angel and didn’t need to shower, he should shower. He promised that a shower would make him feel better, and Cas begrudgingly agreed. Sam knew part of Dean really did it because he cared so deeply for the angel. The other part of him just needed more time to figure out how he was going to approach this.

 

“The floor is wet.” Sam turned when he heard Cas coming into the library. He seemed genuinely concerned that he had gotten the floor wet during his shower. Sam laughed and took another bite of his jerky.

 

“It’ll dry,” he promised, stepping into the library. He picked up the keys from the table. “There’s a new barbecue restaurant across town that just opened. They do carry out. I’m going to go pick us up some dinner. And yes, Dean, they have pie. I’ll be back later.” He jingled the keys, ran up the steps, and left the bunker, leaving his brother and their angel alone.

 

It was at that moment that Dean realized that Sam had known all along. It made Dean’s cheeks heat up in a blush. Sam knew from the beginning, then. That made so much more sense, and gave all his eyebrow raises and snide remarks about Cas being _his_ angel a completely different meaning. But he couldn’t get sidetracked by that now. There was a dripping wet angel in front of him that he needed to talk to.

 

“Did you use the towel?” He asked, standing up to grab another from the laundry basket that hadn’t moved from its spot in a week. Dean didn’t wait for an actual response. He helped dry of Cas’s hair so he wouldn’t be dripping, but that was all he could do right now. His clothes were a lost cause. Instead, he pulled out a chair and draped a blanket around his shoulders before taking his seat again.

 

“Cas, I…” that didn’t sound right. Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, willing the words to come to his mind. It really shouldn’t be this hard, but he didn’t want to mess this up like he messed up everything else.

 

“When I got that call tonight, it felt like my world was ending. I was given twelve hours to figure out how to save you. In the grand scheme of things, twelve hours isn’t a lot of time at all. I was willing to do whatever I had to. I dragged Sam along with me, he dealt with me cursing the entire world while I tried to get you back. Because he knew, Cas. He knew I’m…I’m not really me without you.” Dean thought the words would sound foreign on his tongue, but they didn’t. Somehow, they felt right. They felt like they belonged there.

 

“We have been through hell together. Literally. And Purgatory. And Heaven. You betrayed your family because you had faith in me, and I will not leave you behind, no matter what the circumstances are. It started out with me stabbing you in a barn and you seeing me as nothing more than a vessel. But now…Cas…I…” He blinked, his hands shaking from nerves. Cas tilted his head again, and Dean could feel the oceanic eyes settled on his face. He lifted his emerald hues to meet Cas’s. “I love you.”

 

 

Cas sat silent a moment. He couldn’t figure out what was happening. Dean’s voice was different. Where he was usually filled with confidence, he almost seemed nervous and unsure of himself. Like he was afraid Cas was going to bolt at whatever he was going to say. The angel was unfamiliar with what was happening, but Dean’s words caused a pink blush to spread across his chest and climb up his neck and cheeks.

 

But those last three words? They caused Cas’s heart to swell.

 

Cas didn’t know much about emotion. He didn’t know much about anything human, but he knew what he was feeling for Dean from the beginning. He didn’t need a book or a human to explain it to him. He just _knew._ He knew what it meant when Dean’s little smiles made his heart race, and he knew what it meant when he couldn’t help but smile when Dean called. He knew what it meant when he was willing to lay down his life to protect Dean’s. Castiel was in love.

 

It took him a moment to realize Dean was staring at him anxiously, waiting for him to say something. Anything. Cas opened his mouth, but no words came out. He’d lost the ability to speak from this astounding revelation. He had no idea that there was even a possibility that Dean felt the same. Suddenly he felt foolish for not seeing it. Even Balthazar saw it.

 

“I feel the same, Dean.” He managed to get the words out, and Dean released a breath that he’d been holding for the entire time that he was waiting for Cas to answer. The hunter moved so he was sitting next to the angel, and Cas couldn’t help but stare at the emerald eyes and splattering of freckles. He didn’t know how long they’d sat like that, staring at each other, before Dean leaned in and kissed him.

 

At first, it was just a tentative brush of lips. Dean was testing the waters, making sure what he was doing was okay with the angel. When Cas didn’t pull away, Dean pulled him in closer and parted his lips, encouraging the angel to do the same. The angel’s taste exploded in Dean’s mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and peanut butter and something that Dean could only define as purely _Cas._

 

“I thought today was the worst day of my life…” Dean muttered against Cas’s lips, refusing to pull away. He was afraid if he did, this perfect little bubble they’d finally created would pop, and he’d go back to the world he was in before. A world where he longed for Cas but never had him. “But it ended being one of the best.”

 

Dean could feel Cas’s lips stretching into a smile beneath his own lips. “ _One of_ the best?” He questioned. The hunter laughed and ran his fingers through short, dark hair.

 

“Well, I’m ending the day kissing you, but I did just suffer through one of the most terrifying experiences of my life…” He explained. Dean still wasn’t over the fact that Sam had known this entire time, but he’d confront him about that later. All he wanted to do now was lie down with Cas and kiss him and watch some horrible television show, maybe even take a nap. As long as his angel was close to him, safe, Dean really didn’t care.

 

The angel stood up, to Dean’s protests, and grabbed the hunter’s hand. He gently tugged on his arm, willing him to stand. “Sam will be back soon with dinner and your pie. But until then, you look like you could use a nap.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, simply because he wasn’t sure if Cas would be willing to stay with him. After all, Dean had given him a hard time about watching him sleep over the years.

 

 “Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”

 

His lips brushed against the angel’s again gently. The feeling alone made Dean’s heart skip beats.

 

“I love you.”

 

Cas returned the gentle kiss that ended far too soon. They’d fought so hard and been through so much to end up here. They deserved this. More than anything, they deserved to be happy. And their happiness was, without a doubt, with each other.

 

“I love you too, Dean.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys :) I hope you enjoyed!


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